Fragments
by MiaJewel
Summary: Four years separated - what will you do, when you have no other choice then facing your past? Will you tell your brother, what really happened back then?
1. Chapter 1

**Fragments**

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**Disclaimer:** Nothing belongs to me - I'm just playing with the characters, I promise to give them back :)

**Spoiler:** Season 2, it takes places before "The Usual Suspects"

**Summary:** Four years separated - what will you do, when you have no other choice then facing your past? Will you tell your brother, what really happened back then?

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_Here it comes: a huge THANK YOU - to **Lykaia** for translating "Bruchstücke" into "Fragments". She did a great job - is still doing - and I am so happy that she found me and my stories :) *hugs*. We're both not native speakers, so forgive us any mistakes ;)_

_-s-s-s-_

_Last but not least some words for a very special person. A person I don't want to miss: **Leila** - thank you so much, Sweety. You saved the story - you are always listening, when I'm bitching about it. You believed in me - that means a lot to me and this is why this story is now dedicated to you. _

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**Part 1**

It took two attempts for Dean to open the door to the hospital room and cast a look onto the sleeping figure between the pillows.

Scratches marred the entire right side of Sam's face and the scabbed welts made him look even paler. The cast on his right forearm went up to his elbow, the other hand was resting on the blanket, wrapped in a bandage that held the IV needle in place. The too long, brown hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.

For almost five hours, Dean had been waiting in front of the OR, worrying, hoping and praying. He wasn't sure if God would even want to hear anything of him after the amount of insult he had been heaping upon Him in recent years.

Slowly, he approached his little brother. They had been damn lucky.

It had been an accident – a stupid, little accident.

Sam and him had checked on an old, decrepit house, which was rumored to be haunted by a vengeful spirit. Dean gave a dry laugh. That spirit had been all but vengeful, it merely wanted to pass a message on before moving on to another, hopefully better place.

Dean had never thought them to be invincible. It had been a long time since he had been that foolish, however he never expected things to turn out _that_ bad.

Their prey had appeared behind Sam and the younger Winchester had whirled around at Dean's warning – and stepped right on a loose floorboard which sent him flying backwards down the rotting staircase. If he had just tumbled down the stairs, Same would have been able to catch his fall or roll off. However, the brittle boards that had served as steps had given way under his weight, causing him crash into the hard-packed clay floor after 10 feet of almost free fall.

Concussion, scratches, contusions … countless bruises, compact fracture of the forearm and three broken ribs, one of which had pierced Sam's lung.

How could someone fall so badly?

Quietly, the older Winchester pulled up a chair next to the bed, keeping his eyes fixed to the gray linoleum of the floor, while running his fingers through his hair.

Just a few minutes later, and Sam wouldn't be lying here.

He'd almost lost him.

Dean tried to take a deep breath, lifted his head and carefully put a hand on Sam's shoulder. One of the few places, he dared to touch without hurting him. He just couldn't bring himself to look at his younger brother – instead, his gaze roamed the all too familiar room.

The walls were painted in just the same white as any hospital walls, the nightstands were a little discolored, curtains kept the bright sunlight out of the room. A framed art print hung on the wall across the room – the hands from Michelangelo's "Creation of Adam". Dean knew every single detail, every single nuance of it by heart. Two small closets, a table and two chairs completed the room.

He turned back to Sam with a sigh and brushed his hair off his warm forehead. "What the hell are you doin', man ...," he whispered, his voice lost in the beeping of the monitors.

He didn't need to ask what those lines and numbers meant. He wished, he would have to, to know how Sam was doing, however the answers already had formed in his mind unbidden. His vital functions were okay.

That damn spirit … friggin' hunt. Angrily, Dean bit his lower lip.

"Mr. Winchester?" a surprised voice asked from the door. Dean sat up with a start.

"Yeah?" he replied without thinking or giving the person a second glance. Why the hell had he been as stupid as to give his real name?

Wait.

Something was totally off here.

Dean's heart sank another notch. He searched through his pockets hastily and pull out the fake insurance card. Sanderson. Dean and Sam Sanderson, the embossed printing spelled out in bright letters on multicolored background.

The other man cleared his throat and Dean slowly lifted his head. Dammit.

"I didn't expect to meet you again, Dean."

The dark hair was a little longer and the lines around the blue eyes had grown deeper in the last four and a half years, but the face had remained the same.

"Dr. Connor," Dean stated, his shoulders sagged, his hand on Sam's shoulder tightened its grip slightly.

The doctor nodded and approached the other side of the bed silently to examine Sam briefly. Meanwhile, Dean tried desperately to come up with an explanation for his presence when he had been declared dead for a while now. If the police got wind of this, he would have to get the hell out of here – and he could not and would not leave Sam behind like this.

Dr. Connor interrupted the silence. "Sam's surgery went well. He'll trigger the metal detectors at airports from now on, but I don't think that will be an issue."

As much as Dean tried, he couldn't bring himself to smile. Not even the corners of his mouth twitched. Another doctor already had explained about all of this, when his little brother had been brought into ICU.

Dr. Connor's tone became serious when he realized that the younger man wouldn't react to his joke. "Dean, trust me. Your brother is young and fit. I don't doubt that he'll make a full recovery."

Dean nodded, though still worried. "When will he wake up?"

"He should start to regain consciousness over the course of the afternoon. If anything changes, please don't hesitate to call someone." Dr. Connor looked down at Sam, checking on him a last time, before turning towards the door. There he stopped, apparently unsure as to what to say.

"Look. I can understand if you would like him to be transferred to another r...," he started, but was cut off by Dean: "Won't be necessary."

"Dean."

"'s been a long time, Dr. Connor," Dean replied with his protective walls raised to avoid his emotions getting the better of him.

The dark haired doctor raised a hand in defense. "As you want, Mr. Winchester."

"Sanderson," corrected Dean soundlessly.

Dr. Connor raised an eyebrow in a way that rivaled Sam. "I assume you don't want your real name mentioned, then?"

Dean rubbed his neck and briefly shook his head.

"And you won't tell me why?"

Another shake of his head.

"Then, Mr. Sanderson, it's nice to meet you," Dr. Connor finished. He caught the whispered 'thanks' as he left the room.

Dean knew that the doctor could lose his job protecting him. He had no idea why he did it in first place. It had been an accident that ended them up in this hospital that he had been avoiding like the plague ever since he had left it more than four years ago.

With eyes closed, he slumped back in his chair.

"Sammy?" he asked, cutting through the silence to keep the beeping out of his mind. He didn't expect an answer. "Next time, you won't get out unless sandwiched between two mattresses."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**__

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The first thing that told Dean that Sam was waking up was the fact that his breathing became more and more shallow. As soon as that bit of information had found its way into his brain, he switched from the chair over to the side of the bed and carefully took his brother's good hand into his hand.

"Sammy?" he asked in hushed tones.

A muscle in Sam's face twitched and his head rolled ever so slightly in the direction of Dean's voice. Relieved that the younger man had heard him, Dean squeezed his fingers. He was all too familiar with the leaden feeling of tiredness after surgery. The confusion and fear.

The movements of the clammy fingers, which he got in response, were weak. Sam seemed to gather all his strength to prey his eyes open, though that wasn't met with much success. His eyelids fluttered for a few seconds and for a short moment, Dean was able to catch the sight of murky hazel through the slits.

Before Sam was able to focus on anything, his eyes already had drifted shut again and Dean smile ever so slightly. "Sleep, Sam. I got you. Everything's a'right."

The nod was barely visible, but it was enough for Dean. Sam never had taken kindly to anesthetics. When most other people already were asking for water or started to get more active, Sam did nothing but sleep. The first time, John and himself had gone sick with worry and had pestered the doctors with questions, not quite believing that this wasn't something totally out of the common. Meanwhile – four surgeries later – Dean accepted it the way it was and rather focused on reassuring Sam whenever he was awake.

He waited until Sam's finger relaxed before getting up and stretching. He would have another few hours before wake up again. He could as well get some coffee to help him through the night.

-S-S-S-

_**Wednesday, January 16**__**th**__** 2001**_

_Dean __maneuvered__ the car around another vehicle parked on the curb. Cautiously, because he couldn't quite survey the curve. As he passed, he eyeballed the young woman who flung a cable to the ground, obviously more than a little displeased with the situation, before her upper half disappeared under the hood again._

_She had to be about twenty – not much younger than he himself. Her brown her went down to her shoulders and she didn't stand higher than 5'5. She wore a pair of jeans and a sweater, __the jacket that she should have probably been wearing at this time of year lay on top of the red car._

_Dean sighed and pulled the Impala over. The last town was more than 40 miles behind – and there wasn't any other for several miles down the road either according to his map. Moreover, there wasn't anyone waiting for him, which meant that he could as well lend a helping hand and maybe have a little fun._

_The door swung open with the trademark creak of an old car._

"_Did it break down?" he asked as he approached and the brunette hit her head when she whirled around without taking her situation into account._

_She crossed her arms in front of her chest and ignored the black stains, that her fingers left on her lightly __colored__ sweater. "How does it look like?" she asked back and tilted her head._

_A grin stole its way into Dean's features. The 'fun' part could prove to be a little tricky._

"_Well, like a problem," he finally state__d and stopped a couple of steps in front of her._

"_If it wasn't a problem, my car surely wouldn't have broken down," she shot back, but seemed reluctant to turn her back at Dean. In a way, he could understand her: they were out somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Oregon – who knew what kind of people you came across there?_

"_Shall I take a look at it?" he offered, disregarding her objection.__ "I know the odd bit 'bout cars."_

_Light gray eyes fixed __hazel-green eyes, surprisingly unyielding. Phew – someone seemed to dislike trust even more than he did._

"_Sure, that's what they all say – and in the end, I'll be stranded here in this damn wood with the car taken to pieces."_

"_If I can't manage to get the car running again, I'll take you to the next town. How 'bout that?"_

_She laughed at him in disbelief. "You think I'm THAT stupid? I don't even know you!"_

"_That can be changed. I'm Dean," he replied with a shrug and extended his hand towards her. She kept standing there with her arms crossed in front of her chest. With an inward groan he added: "Winchester. And just to put this straight: I'm not a serial killer."_

"_Yeah, that's what every serial killer would tell me," the nameless girl huffed, but before Dean could come up with another reply, she grab__bed his hand. "Rachel. Rachel Taylor."_

_There you go! They were making some progress after all._

-S-S-S-

"... penny f' ya though's ..." Sam's raspy voice reached Dean's ear. The older Winchester swallowed down, opened his eyes and pushed off the wall on which he had been leaning with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He turned around to Sam.

For how long had his brother been awake if he could manage to form a coherent sentence? He shouldn't have taken his eyes off him.

"'s nothing, Sam," Dean deflected the implicit question, approaching his younger brother and peering down at him. "How are you?"

Sam seemed to take a while to consider and squinted down onto himself. "Does cut open 'n' patched up hit it?" he asked with a lopsided grin and Dean gratefully picked up on it.

"Dead center actually," he replied. "Your exit yesterday was rather pathetic, Sammy. I'd expected something like a ghost or a demon nearly offing you – not a fall down the stairs."

"Through ..."

"Right, through the stairs," Dean admitted. His expression softened, when he met Sam's gaze. "Ya need anything?" he asked suddenly when he noticed that Sam was about to see through his facade. "Something to drink? Pain killer?"

Dean was about to walk back towards the door, but Sam reached out to grab his hand and hold him back. No, actually he didn't hold him back – he lacked the strength for that at the moment – but the touch was enough to make Dean stop in his tracks.

"Everything's a'right," Sam repeated the words that Dean had whispered to him a couple of hours ago. His voice was raspy and frail. In a few days, his throat wouldn't be irritated by the tube, but for now he would have to live with that.

Dean hesitated a second, because one part of him screamed at him to finally get out of the room – out of the hospital, because he couldn't deal with it. The larger part made him settle back on the edge of the bed and nod. Leaving Sam behind alone would score on top of his list of miserable failures. There wasn't much that Sam asked for and if he needed him here, Dean wouldn't leave, even if it drove him crazy.

"'kay," he agreed and took his brother's fingers back into his own hand and realized with surprise that they still felt small in his hand, even if Sam's hands were the same size as his.

He couldn't tell, whom of them was more reassured by this subtle connection. In any case, Sam on his part was already drifting back to sleep.

-S-S-S-

_**Wednesday, January 16**__**th**__** 2001**_

_God, they had been out here for what seemed to be an eternity._

"_Hey, why don't you drive on and send someone here to tow my car to the garage?" Rachel asked from the driver's seat, meanwhile having wrapped herself tightly into her jacket. The evening wind chilled the already cool air even more._

"_You really think, that I'd just leave you out here after sunset? Alone?" asked a mu__ffled voice from under the hood which was rewarded by an annoyed sigh._

"_Seriously. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. Nobody is going to come and snatch me during the hour or two that I'll wait here for the help you are going to send my way."_

_Dean raised his arm to make sure she saw the dismissive gesture with which he discarded her comment and buried himself in his work again. It wasn't that he hadn't found the problem already. He just had to …_

"_Turn the key," he ordered and heard a low muttering which he was sure he didn't want to understand._

_The motor ignited, purring like a kitten._

"_How the …?"_

"_You didn't want to believe me," he returned, as Rachel hopped out of the car. "My dad owned a garage. He taught me ..."_

_The brunette looked at him quizzically, but Dean simply shook his head. "Okay, looks like we both could drive on." He turned to leave. All of a sudden, he wasn't quite in the mood for some fun anymore._

"_Dean?"_

_He paused. "Yeah?"_

"_Where are you going to stay tonight?"_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you all so much for the nice comments, favouriting me, the story etc - You made my day!_

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**Part 3**

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"Dean, did you sleep at all these past few days?," Sam asked after his brother had gone silent for several minutes. It didn't matter when he woke up – Dean was always there, sitting on a chair next to his bed or standing at the window, lost in his thoughts and barely responsive.

"Sure," Dean returned with a telltale yawn.

"You are free to pretend with everybody else, but don't waste your efforts on me. I see through you," Sam replied and turn his head a bit, until he was able to see Dean's face. Deep, dark circles were craved in around his eyes and he looked pale.

Sam waited in vain for a retort. "Come on! We are in some town – go, get a room in a motel and get some eye-shut. I'll be okay."

"The last time you said that, I had to call an ambulance afterwards, Sam, because they had to pump out your stomach."

Sam swallowed down hard. Not a nice memory – not to mention that it made him sick. "I won't run away," he reassured Dean to defuse the situation somewhat.

"Not to mention that this attempt would quickly bring you back to a rather harsh reality, Mr. Win- … Mr. Sanderson," some voice interjected from the door and saved Dean from having to reply.

Dean wished he could shake the feeling that Sam now was regarding him with barely concealed curiosity, if not suspicion. He didn't want him to be dazed, but it wasn't a good time to talk. A change of surroundings would make things easier.

There was just one way out of this.

Sam already had opened his mouth to ask, when Dean rose and briefly squeazed his shoulder. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, Sammy."

And though he kept the look he gave Dr. Connor inconspicuous, Sam noticed it.

-S-S-S-

_**Wednesday, January 16**__**th**__** 2001**_

"_How does one come by a house like that at your age?," Dean asked with some surprise when he saw the whitewashed family home. The front looked invitingly and friendly under the light of the streetlamp; weeds and scrubs were growing merrily in the front yard._

"_I inherited it from my grandma. When she became a nursing case, she had to move into a nursing home," Rachel explained matter-of-factly and locked the car._

"_What about your parents?"_

"_My father, I never knew – and my mother died of an overdose. Long ago."_

_For a second, Dean saw her flinch as if she only noticed then how harsh the words were that she had chosen._

_Dean slapped himself inwardly and made a mental note to try and avoid those foot-mouth situations that he seem to run into every time he tried to have a normal conversation. "I'm sorry," he added to amend, but this time, Rachel dismissed it with a gesture._

"_My grandma took both me and my sister in. It was better than at home – at least in my eyes. But Abigail never had as close a relationship with grandma as I had. They always fought because Abigail wanted to go back to mom. When mom started on drugs, she had been too young to understand. She projected her hatred on our grandmother."_

"_How much younger is she?"_

"_Six years."_

"_Ever thought of getting her back?"_

_Rachel unlocked the front door and allowed Dean to enter. Inwardly, he cursed himself. Why did they even talk? It only would create some awkward moments after tonight._

"_She doesn't want to leave Philadelphia and I don't want to leave here. That was the situation last time we discussed things. What about you? Siblings, family?"_

_Putting his foot in obviously wasn't enough. Now, he even had managed to tangle his neck in the noose. Only thing that was missing was someone to pull it tight._

"_My little bro's at the college," he answered vaguely and shrugged off his jacket, before dropping onto the couch. It was large, huge – and wonderfully comfortable. Just about right for … Dean interrupted that trail of thought as fast as it had popped up._

_Within seconds, Rachel had managed to make coffee, put two pizzas into the oven and grab some cooled beer from the fridge. All of that without ever loosing the calm that she just had regained._

"_What's he studying?" Rachel picked up the conversation again and Dean could have kissed her on the spot for not going into details about the rest of his family._

"_Prelaw – in Stanford."_

"_You've got to be proud of him."_

_The memories of Sam brought an unintentional smile to his face and he lowered his head to conceal it. "Yeah."_

_His reaction made her laugh, an honest laugh. Not the loud, annoying sort of laughter, but in a strange way a melodic laugh that made its way into his heart._

_Rachel put an arm on the back of the couch as she turned to Dean and propped her head against her hand, palm on her cheek. Just the spot where those dimples appeared, and her eyes sparkled a little bit more than before._

_Without a reason, Dean joined in with the laughter. The situation was absurd. There they sat on the couch, both expecting a night of a different kind – and talked about their siblings._

-S-S-S-

With a quite sight, Dean rolled around in bed and boxed the pillow with some frustration.

He had managed to get a few hours of sleep, but without Sam being in the same room, he couldn't find any real rest. He glanced over to the clock on the nightstand, pulled the blanket over his head with a groan and squeezed his eyes shut.

The earliest time at which he could show up at the hospital was 5:30 am, unless he wanted to wait outside in the cold for another two hours. Cold, that could help to clear his thoughts. Whether he wanted that was another question.

The older Winchester rolled around onto his back again and starred up at the wooden ceiling above him.

Actually, he knew that considering the situation, Sam was doing fine at the moment. Nevertheless he wanted to be with him and not move away an inch, whether the doctors, nurses or Sam wanted or not. And on the other hand, every minute spent at the hospital was torture to him.

Unsure what to do, he switched on the lamp on the nightstand and swung his legs out of the bed. He still could decide while taking a shower.

-S-S-S-

"...'ean?," Sam mumbled barely audible as he saw the figure in the dark that moved across the room. It had to be at dead of night.

"Go back to sleep," the older one whisper, dropped onto the chair and leaned forward onto the side of the bed. Crossing his arms and burying his head into them, he abused them as pillow.

"... whayd'nere...?" It took Dean a moment to translate the sentence into a 'What are you doing here?'.

"Get some sleep," he explained and realized by Sam's reaction that he probably wouldn't remember this conversation at all the next morning. Under all other – more lucid – circumstances, Sam would have protested.

Gently shaking his head, he stared into the now familiar darkness. At some point, he had stopped to count the days that he spend lying awake in this place.

-S-S-S

_**Thursday, January 17**__**th**__** 2002**_

_He should have been long gone to spare both of them the moment of Rachel waking up._

_And while his head adamantly kept repeating that instruction, the rest of his body practiced passive resistance._

_It's been long since the sun had made it to the point where its rays could filter into the room to tease them. Way too late._

_They still were in the living room. Empty plates, cups and bottles littered the table in front of them and Dean remembered the past hours._

_Intentions had been clear. Both hers and his. And up to now, there never had been a case like this in which all intentions suddenly lost relevance. The thought to stay and see what would happen never had occurred to him._

_Until now._

_Dean ran his fingers through his tousled hair and moved Rachel's head off his tight, but instead of sleeping on, she blinked and pushed herself up on her arms._

_She stayed silent, just cocked her head, her eyebrows knitted together in a question, that remained hovering between them unvoiced._


	4. Chapter 4

I'm sooooo sorry for not posting this earlier - well, what can I say? Life is what happens, while you make other plans :) - I hope you are all still with me here ;)

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**Chapter 4  
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The brightness of the room blinded Dean and made him squint his eyes before he forced his lids a bit apart at least.

Dammit that bright light! His eyes started to water almost instantly and, suffering, he raised a had to shield them. The early winter morning sun immersed the room in its light and made the walls seem a little less cold, but no warmth reached Dean.

The muscles in his neck were tensed and cracked as he straightened and thus lifted his cheek off the side of the bed. It felt crumbled and a little numb and passing over it with his fingertips confirmed this. That side of his face had to look just like the one of pug – he dearly hoped that none of the nurses would spot him like that.

His gaze wandered to the watch on his wrist and then to Sam who hadn't budged an inch. Dean suspected that his little brother only slept so soundly because he was drugged up with pain killer to the brim, but anything was better than sleep that didn't bring any rest at all.

Just like his own sleep for example.

He stood up, feeling exhausted, and winced at the loud noise that the metal legs of the chair made as they scratched across the floor. He stopped briefly in his movement to check whether Sam had woken because of that, but the brown haired man just rolled his head slightly to one side, his eyes still closed.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, gonna go and get some coffee," he told Sam quietly and only to make himself feel like not just leaving.

-S-S-S-

The corridor was busy. Staff and doctors formed a mass of predominately green, blue and white.

For a few seconds, the crowd of people and their behavior tripped Dean up enough to make him stop cold in his tracks in front of the closed door to take in the scene. Laughter from a group of nurses in one corner; people, that hurried by him in both directions, greeting each other and giving him a cheerful nod. Even the two male nurses that were busy with the food trolley had smiles on their faces.

The contrast to the leaden silence from which he had just emerged was way too sharp. A silence that seemed to be corporeal, dampening even the slightest of sounds; a silence that reached out with its fingers of sorrow for the throats of people and rendered them speechless.

The confusing contrast of these two places, which were only a thin wall apart, followed Dean on his way to the coffee vending machine.

The waiting room in which the machine was located was still completely empty at these early hours and Dean sifted through the pockets of his jeans for a few coins. On the first three attempts, the machine refused to take the coins and the blond was close to kicking the metal.

Irritated, he gritted his teeth and tried to calm down. All the worry for Sam and the oppressing memories seemed to want to force their way out in that moment and he couldn't afford to be kicked out of the hospital for blowing a fuse.

He bent down to retrieve the money again and stared at the ad of the company that maintained the machine as he pushed the coins into the slot yet again. The coins clattered through the various sensors and this time landed with an unmistakable sound on a heap of other coins that already had been in there.

Finally.

The digital display sprang to life and black letters scrolled past on green background. Advertisement for some new beverage and the note to please first – if desired – select the roast, milk and sugar, before fixing the selection by pressing the button.

Dean briefly scanned the offered selection of beverages and decided for some black, extra strong coffee. One by one, he pressed the buttons and rested his head against the illuminated front that showed the picture of a cup of steaming cappuccino.

If he didn't get some caffeine into his system within the next five minutes, he'd collapse on the spot.

The machine had to be new. The old one had been of a strange greyish color and had made a hell of a noise; this one here was silent even if the beans were freshly grounded. The deep black paint reminded him of his car.

The plastic cup dropped out of the dispenser into the bracket. The change clattered out.

Had he locked the car? He couldn't remember. Yawning, he stuffed the three coins into the pocket containing his car keys.

The sound of water running through pipes and heater to be pressed through pulverized beans yanked him back into reality. Slowly, he straightened up.

The display flashed a "Please retrieve cup" repeatedly and he crouched down to push up the lid and take the dark blue, ribbed plastic cup out of the machine.

Dean almost scalded his palm on the hot steam. Nevertheless he raised the cup to his lips and sipped black liquid greedily. It was hot enough to make his tongue burn like hell on first contact before it went numb, but he didn't care.

It wasn't just his tongue that was numb after half the cup, everything from his larynx down that had come in touch with the liquid, gave off a hot and in hindsight rather uncomfortable sensation.

His dragging feet took him just a few steps over to one of the wooden chairs on which he slumped down, head put back.

-S-S-S-

_**Friday, February 15**__**th**__** 2002**_

_The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the house and slowly pulled Dean upstairs from his sleep. He rubbed his hand over his face and brushed his fingers through his hair, before he finally sat up._

_The sky in front of the window was surprisingly clear. Not like yesterday morning when one could have thought that the clouds had come down to hang around between the houses._

_It was a strange feeling to wake up more than once in the same house, the same bed and in the same – healthy – shape. Strange, but good._

_Dean had returned almost half a week ago from a hunt that had him tied up at the other end of the States. Until he had stood on Rachel's doorsteps, he hadn't thought that he would really ever returned to her. His job and long-term relationships didn't go together too well, but his car didn't seem to share his point of view. He had been pulled further and further west, back to Medford._

_Not to mention that it looked like he had no other obligations. John and himself had been hunting solo for a while now to … as his dad put it so nicely "increase efficiency"._

_Dean didn't mind; taking some time off was okay – else he might have ended up like Sam. And after all, John always was just a phone call away._

_Until the moment, he had rung the bell, he wouldn't have thought that there could be someone who would anchor him in one place ever again like Rachel did it. Even if she hadn't even asked if he would return. She just let him do his thing without demanding anything._

_His bare feet touched the floor and he briefly shivered, gazing around the room in search of his jeans and a sweater._

_Chaos ruled the room and Dean had quickly learned that this was the way everywhere Rachel showed up._

_He found the lost items bundled up on a leather chair and found himself less and less inclined to peel himself out of the warm blanket._

_But hunger and the need for caffeine won._

_Quickly he threw back the cover and slipped into the cold clothes. They really should turn on the heating …_

_They?_

_We? Surprised by his own thoughts, Dean shook his head._

_He found the socks half hidden underneath the bed and pulled them on, before he made his way downstairs._

_Rachel was nowhere to be found when Dean entered the kitchen, but a mug of coffee was standing on the table and he couldn't help the grin as he homed in on it._

"_Hey!" an indignant voice exclaimed as his fingers just were about to close around the hot piece of china and he managed not to flinch or spill everything. He made a show of turning around deliberately slowly to face Rachel, who stood in the doorway, tousled haired and disheveled, the collar slipped down far enough to reveal the fair skin of her shoulders. "Thief! - That's mine!"_

"_Hm," was the only response Dean gave before he took a sip and instantly scalded his throat. "Ouch," he added considerably quieter and with a grumble, which made Rachel grin gleefully._

"_That's what you get for thieving. And now, hand over my coffee!"_

_Dean was far from doing her that favor and raised the mug above his head – a place that Rachel would never be able to reach, since she didn't even reach up to his nose. "Come 'n' get it," he challenged her without batting an eyelid._

_The gray eyes in which Dean had spotted some blue sprinkles sparkled with mischief and she dropped her hands, closing in on him._

"_I won't beg, Dean," she replied and was about to turn around to make her way over to the coffeemaker. Dean found himself wondering how she was able to stand the cold tiles with bare feet and in the next moment, felt a finger being poked into his side, right beneath his armpit._

_Caught by surprise, he jerked and brought down his arms reflexively, spilling half of the coffee on his hand in doing so and in the very next moment dropped the mug with a curse._

_With a loud clattering noise, the mug hit the floor and shattered, the brown liquid painting a pattern of puddles and splashes onto it, and Rachel raised an eyebrow. "That was my favorite mug."_

_Before he could answer however, Rachel had taken his hand and pulled it close to take a look at the redness. "You should -"_

_Dean freed his fingers and took half a step towards Rachel, taking her face into his hands and sealing her lips._

_For a couple of seconds her hands remained hovering in the air, fixed to the spots that had been in, before she returned the kiss, pulled Dean closer and slid her fingers under his sweater._

_Breakfast could wait. This here was much better._

-S-S-S-

"Mr. Sanderson?"

Somehow that rang a bell. No second voice replied. Sanderson. That referred to himself.

Dean blinked a couple of times until he regained his bearings. He still sat in the waiting room, in his hand the almost empty coffee cup, its content only lukewarm by now. In front of him stood Dr. Connor.

"'scuse me," he mumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose before he looked up, almost springing back to his feet. "What's the matter? Anything wrong with Sam?"

"No – no. I just wanted a word with you."

Almost relieved, Dean slumped back down and drained the last bit from his cup before scrunching it up with one hand. "What's up?"

"I'll get right to business, Dean. Sam will need physiotherapy for his arm for some while – and it would be good if he had some place to stay for the next couple of weeks so that he could keep his appointments. In addition, there is not need to keep him in hospital any longer than necessary, he's doing fine. In another three or four days we could discharge him, as long as he'd stay under observation and take it easy. The question is whether you have a place to go to."

Dean hesitate briefly, but didn't avoid the other man's gaze. "Yes."


End file.
